


Suncatcher

by thephilosophersapprentice



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Ace-Aro Ed Week 2020, Asexual Character, Asexual Edward Elric, Edward is a nerd, don't mind me being salty over jealousy fics, in this house we respect women and recognize that jealousy is stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24853117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thephilosophersapprentice/pseuds/thephilosophersapprentice
Summary: Ed and Winry go to a summer solstice celebration. Someone else tries to ask Ed out. Winry gives her some advice.
Relationships: Edward Elric & Winry Rockbell
Comments: 19
Kudos: 116
Collections: Asexual and Aromantic Ed





	Suncatcher

While Central City was not as hot as Rush Valley, it was more humid (though not exceptionally so.) As she held her damp lemonade glass in one hand, condensation leaving its sides slick and tricky to hold, Winry decided that she very much preferred the Rush Valley version of summer.

It had been over a year since the Promised Day—a year, just about, since Edward and Alphonse had come home at last. The invitation had come from Gracia Hughes, which was the only reason why they’d answered it—Gracia, like her late husband, was incorruptible and no bribe from Mustang could’ve made her send an invitation on his behalf. She would’ve turned Roy out on his ear to fight his own battles if he so much as suggested it. Which meant that she’d sent the invitation to the Elrics and Rockbells because she thought they would enjoy it.

It was just as well; Ed had declared that he had had enough of being in the public eye to last him a lifetime.

“It’s all very well when you come and go,” he’d said, “but when you live in a house and have a life? No thank you.”

Ironically, he was still attracting a lot of attention. But that was no surprise—with his bronzed skin, long golden hair and topaz eyes, people were bound to be curious. No one else in Amestris but the Elrics looked like that. While the fair skin of most of the festival-goers was flushed a hot pink, Edward didn’t seem bothered by the heat or the sun at all.

Winry wasn’t sure where Al was, but Ed seemed fascinated with the glasswork in one of the artisans’ stalls. He straightened up, searching the crowd for Winry, and beckoned her over when he saw her. Winry made her way over at a sedate pace. Ed caught her hand and pointed out what he’d been looking at; a suncatcher of a white bird surrounded by all the colors of a sunset. “The kitchen could use some more color. What do you think?”

Winry turned toward him, smirking. “Who are you and what have you done with Edward Elric?”

Ed blinked at her, nonplussed. “Huh?”

“Well? When did it happen? When did you finally grow a sense of beauty?”

Ed rolled his eyes. “This again? I’ve always appreciated pretty things!” His free hand darted back and forth like it had a mind of its own. “Glass is made from _sand_. Sand! It’s the rapid cooling that makes it clear—keeps large crystals from forming. Like how obsidian and granite are different. And then they can make it so many different colors just by adding different trace minerals!” In addition to the almost rhythmic movement of his hand, he was bouncing slightly on his toes.

“All right. Who gave you sugar?” Winry asked.

Ed stopped. “No one?”

Winry gently poked him in the ribs. “I’m teasing you, Edward.”

“Oh.” He ducked his head slightly, blushing under his tan.

Winry offered him a sip of her lemonade, the ice cubes clinking almost musically against the sides of the glass. “You’re so sarcastic yourself I sometimes forget that you don’t always get it,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. It’s kind of cute.”

Edward accepted the sip of lemonade. He made a wry face. “Granny’s is still better.”

Winry cautiously lifted one edge of the suncatcher with a finger as Ed went on. “It’s the lack of a large crystalline structure and the inconsistency of trace minerals that make glass so hard to transmute. I think that a lot of people just don’t realize how the trace minerals affect the properties of the glass. Any alchemist worth their salt can fix broken pottery, but the only one I’ve ever met who didn’t have transmutation marks all over his glasses specialized in crystalline structures.”

The craftsman who was sitting at the back of the stall had come to the front, anticipating a purchase at first and then interested by their discussion. “I’ve never heard of anyone making glassware with alchemy,” the woman—older, her skin a shade or so lighter than Ed’s—commented. “Are you an alchemist, young man?”

“I’m more of a theorist than a practitioner, these days,” Edward said, without even a hint of ruefulness. A wave of pride washed over Winry. “I think that it might be easier to heat the glass externally and then transmute it into shape, using a ectothermic reaction to cool it as soon as it was in the correct shape.”

“If you’re not careful,” the glassmaker said, “the sudden change in temperature can cause the glass to shatter.”

“Oh, damn. I didn’t even think about that.” They got into a debate about different chemicals and how they would affect the color of the finished product and the way it set, what would make it more heat-resistant and less prone to shatter.

As the alchemist and the glassmaker got deeper into their conversation, Winry took the chance to give the suncatcher a second look. “Yes, I think that would be nice.”

They paid for the suncatcher but arranged to pick it up later, before the festival closed for the night, and headed toward the stage, where the band was playing—not the small, folksy band that Resembool boasted on warmer nights when work was done for the day, but a larger, stylish band playing something with the offbeat rhythms popular in the city.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” Edward protested as Winry pulled him toward the improvised dance floor in the square. You practically had to be dancing to get across the plaza.

“They all say that,” Winry teased, winking at him. Edward sighed and took her hand, pulling her into the traditional waltz stance. “Oh, come on,” Winry said. “That won’t do!”

“Mustang might’ve taught me to dance, but he only taught me the old-fashioned ones because I had ‘a public image to worry about’!” Ed snapped, but there was no heat in it.

“Then we’ll just do whatever,” Winry said. “It’s not as if anyone is looking.”

* * *

Contrary to what he’d claimed, Edward had an excellent feel for rhythm and a fluidity of movement that made him fun to dance with, even if he had no idea how to perform any of the popular dances. Soon enough, though, Winry was out of breath and headed in the direction of the open-fronted lunch bar on the other side of the plaza, promising to bring Edward back something to drink as well.

She leaned against the bar, pushing her hair out of her face and waiting for the lady in the apron to finish up three other people’s orders.

Another girl—dark hair was the only feature Winry could really distinguish of her—leaned against the bar farther down, fanning herself and chattering to her friends. As she waited for her turn to order, Winry found their words filtering into her mind.

“So hot. Why do we even come to these things when we know it’s going to be like this?” one of the girls groused.

“Be social, Janine,” another laughed, shoving the first girl lightly.

“Right. _Social._ ”

“Hang on,” the dark-haired girl Winry had noticed first said, perking up. She craned her head, watching someone in the crowd. “The blond. He’s _not_ a girl?”

Winry restrained herself from a snort of amusement. Sometimes she thought that Edward kept his hair long as camouflage. Or maybe he was just vain.

Anyone would be understandably vain, with hair like that—thick, soft, shining like the gold-leaf halo of a painted saint in a church.

“Too dark. He doesn’t look Amestrian.”

“With a face like that, who cares where he’s from.”

The dark-haired girl pushed herself away from the polished countertop. “I’m going to go talk to him. Maybe get his number. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Winry said, snickering. “He just came out as asexual a few weeks ago.”

The girl jumped, spinning to face Winry. “A-what?”

“Asexual.” Winry repeated. “Are you familiar with the term?”

The girl just blinked at her.

“Not a lot of people have, really. It just means he’s not attracted to people sexually.”

“You’re kidding,” another of the girls said.

“I’m not.”

“Damn.” The second girl—dirty blond hair—sized her up. “I didn’t even know that people could not want to… you know.”

“It’s not exactly the same thing—that’s what Ed told me. It doesn’t preclude having a relationship or sex, he just doesn’t have the impulse to have it with specific people.” Winry smiled. “By all means go and introduce yourselves, but expect a friendship, not a romantic or sexual relationship. Who knows? You might have some shared interests.”

Maybe she should’ve warned them about the specific nature of Ed’s interests, Winry mused as the group made their way across the dance floor. Still, you never knew. Maybe one of them was a chemist. Ed could always use a few more pen pals.


End file.
